Only Americans could make a storm out of a teacup
IT got that cold overnight last weekend that I found myself awake in the middle of the night wondering whether to turn on the heating.
Then I thought: “F*** ‘ em – that’s why we bought pyjamas for the expensive little bastards.”
And as I stood shivering in the dark, hoping at least some of my weary night wee was making it in the vague direction of the toilet, it occurred to me that – chilly though it was – it wasn’t a big deal.
Same as a couple of weeks ago when the wind was that bad round our way that my late night adult channel grumblings were rudely interrupted by my Sky dish shuddering in the gales.
What DIDN’T happen on either occasion was the world’s press descending on the outside of our place with their satellite trucks, relief helicopters and TV reporters wearing c***ing sou’westers going live while leaning into the wind.
You see, I live near the coast in the north west of England and up here we tend to refer to such events as “the weather”.
Whereas in the US of F***ing A, it’s apparently called “A Real Life Disaster Movie”.
Anyone watching CNN could be forgiven for thinking that the tsunami that almost drowned the entire nation of Japan last year was small beer compared to so-called “Superstorm” Sandy.
Superstorm? Are they having a laugh? It’s only around 80mph – a breeze, where I live. And it’s even got a girl’s name, for f***’s sake.
Coming soon to a multiplex near you: Bruce Willis tasked by President Morgan Freeman to save the earth with a large umbrella and a foot pump.
Drama queen c***s.